- Oct 22, 2022
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It is but another humid, mellow, and rather blasé day here in the swamp. To suggest anything seemed out of the ordinary would simply be a plea for attention. While the frogs beyond camp sang their chorus a notch higher than yesterday (and the day before that), all remained as it usually had been: patrols rotate in and out from the hollowed pines with scents renewed and noted, gossip hangs low over exchanged tongues, and all can agree with a shared nod — today was unremarkably normal, and were it to end without issue, the next day would surely prove to be the same.
When the sky began to darken slighty ahead of its schedule, Smogmaw initially cast it off with a shrug. He'd been presiding over camp's going-ons for an extended period, anyhow, and time tends to accelerate when one's attention starts to waver. Sooner rather than later the tom had risen onto his haunches for a leisurely stretch; ignorant to how low his shadow was slung, and how fuzzy it'd gotten along its edges. Having decided he has seen his due amount for the time being, the deputy departs from his chosen spot at Clanrock's base to mosey his way along the pine threshold, intent on finding himself a meal.
Prey is so plentiful after those recent rains, a feast's worth lingers within a rabbit's leap from the camp entrance. Well, that's reducing it to a metaphorical nutshell, but still—Smogmaw could fetch two or three frogs in the same span of time it'd take Ferndance to finish a story, and such easy pickings ought to do as a reward after an efficient day of camp-watching.
He pokes his head first, then the rest of his brawny form, through the gnarled and tangling roots marking ShadowClan's front door. As the deputy navigates the outer cusp there's hardly a glance spared toward the sky; though his stride falters as he clambers over the rocks and low shrubbery at camp's outskirts.
Everything beyond was tinted dark and vermillion-orange. It looked like it were painted the wrong shade, an awkward smear across a landscape normally adourned in cool greens and damp browns. Smogmaw's ears wilt at their tips, brows slanting while confusion creases his muzzle. Something about this foreign colour, this sense-out-about-being, brings a shiver through his lashing tail. Filling his belly no longer holds any appeal, and so he pivots around back to camp.
The rest inside seemed disoriented by it, too, having all paused their activities. Some held squinted gazes directed toward the sky; others remained on all fours, fidgeting and confused as they cast their attention about. "I don't know what's going on," he grumbles to himself, before parking his paws amidst the clearing.
Nonetheless, there is one conviction which leads itself as likely: uncertainty for what lies beyond the camp's crest should be met with readiness. They do not need the uncertainty to provoke fear, for fear can spiral quickly into panic. Therefore, Smogmaw thrusts his chin high, and his posture rigid. "Everyone, listen! I just checked outside of camp. There is no fire, and there is no smoke, only a strange day passing us. We are not in danger."
But a mumble begins regardless, and in short order, just about every other set of eyes had found themselves drawn up toward the peculiar dimming sky. The silver-marbled tabby bristles, though he follows where they look. Amber eyes trail up from the dark treetops framing their home's edges, passing over the low clouds churning in the haze. Higher and higher they climb, until they see a curious corona slowly eating away at the late daylight.
The moon swallows the sun's light as it peaks a half-round disc, and then it is no longer visible. "What...?" Smogmaw utters lowly, ear tips drawn back. The very laws of possibility are being rewritten, and all the tom can do is watch, frozen as it happens.
No feral tale or tidbit of folklore has ever described any visual interpretation like this. Not one story springs to mind which can give him a fitting explanation. Could it be a divine decree from StarClan? A signal something terrible is to happen? Has the world itself grown tired, and is the life within it about to cease?
He'd prefer it if the great cats in the sky came down themselves and explained it to him, really, rather than he sit and waste his time speculating in the vague. Especially if the clan's future hinges on this very moment. But it's never quite so simple.
When the sky began to darken slighty ahead of its schedule, Smogmaw initially cast it off with a shrug. He'd been presiding over camp's going-ons for an extended period, anyhow, and time tends to accelerate when one's attention starts to waver. Sooner rather than later the tom had risen onto his haunches for a leisurely stretch; ignorant to how low his shadow was slung, and how fuzzy it'd gotten along its edges. Having decided he has seen his due amount for the time being, the deputy departs from his chosen spot at Clanrock's base to mosey his way along the pine threshold, intent on finding himself a meal.
Prey is so plentiful after those recent rains, a feast's worth lingers within a rabbit's leap from the camp entrance. Well, that's reducing it to a metaphorical nutshell, but still—Smogmaw could fetch two or three frogs in the same span of time it'd take Ferndance to finish a story, and such easy pickings ought to do as a reward after an efficient day of camp-watching.
He pokes his head first, then the rest of his brawny form, through the gnarled and tangling roots marking ShadowClan's front door. As the deputy navigates the outer cusp there's hardly a glance spared toward the sky; though his stride falters as he clambers over the rocks and low shrubbery at camp's outskirts.
Everything beyond was tinted dark and vermillion-orange. It looked like it were painted the wrong shade, an awkward smear across a landscape normally adourned in cool greens and damp browns. Smogmaw's ears wilt at their tips, brows slanting while confusion creases his muzzle. Something about this foreign colour, this sense-out-about-being, brings a shiver through his lashing tail. Filling his belly no longer holds any appeal, and so he pivots around back to camp.
The rest inside seemed disoriented by it, too, having all paused their activities. Some held squinted gazes directed toward the sky; others remained on all fours, fidgeting and confused as they cast their attention about. "I don't know what's going on," he grumbles to himself, before parking his paws amidst the clearing.
Nonetheless, there is one conviction which leads itself as likely: uncertainty for what lies beyond the camp's crest should be met with readiness. They do not need the uncertainty to provoke fear, for fear can spiral quickly into panic. Therefore, Smogmaw thrusts his chin high, and his posture rigid. "Everyone, listen! I just checked outside of camp. There is no fire, and there is no smoke, only a strange day passing us. We are not in danger."
But a mumble begins regardless, and in short order, just about every other set of eyes had found themselves drawn up toward the peculiar dimming sky. The silver-marbled tabby bristles, though he follows where they look. Amber eyes trail up from the dark treetops framing their home's edges, passing over the low clouds churning in the haze. Higher and higher they climb, until they see a curious corona slowly eating away at the late daylight.
The moon swallows the sun's light as it peaks a half-round disc, and then it is no longer visible. "What...?" Smogmaw utters lowly, ear tips drawn back. The very laws of possibility are being rewritten, and all the tom can do is watch, frozen as it happens.
No feral tale or tidbit of folklore has ever described any visual interpretation like this. Not one story springs to mind which can give him a fitting explanation. Could it be a divine decree from StarClan? A signal something terrible is to happen? Has the world itself grown tired, and is the life within it about to cease?
He'd prefer it if the great cats in the sky came down themselves and explained it to him, really, rather than he sit and waste his time speculating in the vague. Especially if the clan's future hinges on this very moment. But it's never quite so simple.
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